(no subject)
Author: rachel2205
Title: A Song of Snow and Blood
Rating: R
Pairing: Eventually Jon/Robb
Chapter: 4 of ?? (1 is here, 2 is here, 3 here.)
Wordcount: this chapter - 1900
Synopsis: Jon gets more than he bargained for beyond the Wall. Very loosely inspired by a prompt at stark_n_snow that asked for a vampire!Jon fic, and the result of some of my own speculation about what might happen to someone a wight didn’t manage to quite kill. Set at the end of the first season.
Warnings: None for this episode!
Disclaimer: Based on the HBO series rather than the books, hence the use of White Walkers as a term rather than Others. I own nothing!
Notes: Beautiful banner by dahliaxxx. And those of you who've been waiting patiently: FINALLY Jon finds Robb!
Previously: That night, for the first time since Piper had attacked him, Jon dreamed. In his dream he chased Robb through the woods, both of them barefoot in the snow, and he brought his brother down with a snarl. In his dream Robb bucked up under him as he bit down, and Jon woke with a hard on and blood in his mouth. He had bitten his own tongue.
Jon stood on the Kingsroad looking down toward Winterfell. There was no moon, but that didn’t matter; Jon could see the great granite walls as clearly as he ever had in daylight. The winter town was beginning to fill up, more little houses with lights in their windows. They looked like they were huddled together for warmth. Winter is coming, Jon thought, but for the first time that didn’t seem like a curse. Whatever he was now, he was made for winter.
He wanted to go down to Winterfell, to spend the night inside its familiar walls, see Rickon and Old Nan and most of all Bran. He ached for it, but he knew he couldn’t. After the bandit in the woods he didn’t trust himself, not around people. He hoped by the time he got to Robb he’d have himself under control. And if he didn’t, he would be in a camp full of armed men. They’d stop him. One way or another.
Jon put his hand on Ghost’s white head and looked at Winterfell for another long moment, and then turned away and headed back into the trees along the road. For as long as he could, he’d keep running out of sight of men.
***
If he could put aside knowing that he was a monster, the next weeks were perhaps the happiest of Jon’s life. He had nothing to do but run and hunt, and with each night he seemed to be getting stronger, faster, eyesight keener. He could smell prey now, and spot even the slightest movement in the dark. He ran as fast and as quietly as Ghost, and when he ran he hardly thought, only felt, hungerdesirejoy, the satisfaction of the new grace of his body, the easy strength of his muscles, the cold night air in his lungs and the smell of earth and fur and pine in his nostrils.
But he couldn’t run like this forever. He needed to find Robb’s army, and to do that he needed news. And so he started to pass through villages, to go into taverns and talk to people. The bright lamplight of these places after so many nights in the dark made his eyes ache, and though he’d never found it easy to talk to strangers, before they’d not shied away from him the way they seemed to do now. At taverns he’d find himself sitting alone at a table even when the rest of the place was crowded. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, Jon saw how pale he’d got, but it wasn’t a pallor like sickness. People could tell he wasn’t like them, he knew it. They might not realise it, but somewhere inside themselves they recognised a monster. But despite this, Jon learned easily enough that Robb was at Riverrun, and that the lords of the Riverlands were taking back their estates from the Lannisters.
Jon didn’t like to admit it, but he was nervous going to Riverrun. Catelyn had never liked him, and this was her family’s seat. It was bad enough he’d have to see her again, but her father? Her brother? Jon imagined men with eyes like Catelyn’s, looking at him with contempt, and felt himself quail. He looked down the river to the great sandstone castle and set his jaw. He was here not as Jon Snow, but as a brother of the Night’s Watch. He had a right to be here. Catelyn couldn’t touch him.
It turned out to be a moot point, because Robb wasn’t there. He’d taken a force to Darry, Jon learned, after Lord Lyman and all his men had been massacred by Gregor Clegane. Darry was a small house, its lands insignificant, but Jon knew his brother and he knew the cruelty of what the Mountain had done would disgust Robb, and that he would not rest until Riverlands men held the castle again.
It was half a day’s ride to Darry, but the nights were long now, and it wasn’t yet dawn before Jon found the camp. He could smell it before he could see it, scent of horseflesh and leather and metal. He could smell roasting meat, too, and he pretended that was what made his stomach rumble, not the scent of iron and salt underneath that: the smell of men’s sweat and blood.
He was questioned pretty hard outside the camp, and then eventually taken through. The camp was quiet at this time of night, though Jon could hear the occasional murmur of conversation as they headed toward Robb’s tent.
“I’ll see if His Majesty’s awake yet,” said the guard. “He should be arming soon.” The guard glanced at Ghost. “Leave - that out here.” Jon could swear Ghost gave the guard a sarcastic look before the man went into the tent.
Jon could feel his pulse flickering in his throat. The tent wasn’t particularly kingly, he thought. No gold bunting or the like, just the Stark colours flying above it. In the pre-dawn gloom everything was the Stark grey, Jon thought and smiled to himself a little, trying to make his pulse slow. And then the guard was stepping out. “He’ll see you,” he said, and Jon pushed past him and into the lamplit tent.
Robb was sitting at a table, hunched over a map, his face tense with concentration. Jon’s first, foolish, thought was that Robb wasn’t wearing a crown, and then his brother was speaking.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much time this morning; we’re about to - ” And then Robb glanced up from his map, and his whole face changed, forehead smoothing out with shock. Jon felt his stomach lurch hard, but before he could say anything Robb was on his feet.
“Snow,” he said, launching himself at Jon, and his hug was bone-crushingly hard. Robb’s skin smelled of fur and leather, and Jon found it hard to breathe.
“Robb,” Jon managed. “I mean. Your Grace.”
Robb pulled back and punched Jon’s arm.
“Don’t go calling me that. Not in private, I mean,” said Robb. “You probably should in front of other people,” and then he ran a hand through his disordered hair and laughed. “I know, a king. I’m still not quite sure how that happened.” Then his smile slipped away, his face taken on that sudden studied seriousness Jon knew so well. “What’re you doing here, Snow? Mormont’ll have your head. Or more to the point he’ll ask me to have it and I don’t fancy that.”
“I didn’t desert!” said Jon, stung - more so because he had thought of deserting before Sam and his brothers had convinced him otherwise. “The Lord Commander sent me.”
“He did?” Robb said, and then a young man came into the room carrying a plate of cold meat and bread.
“Your Grace,” he said, glance darting toward Jon and then away. “Pardon me. I’ll need to arm you soon.”
“I’m sorry, Jon,” said Robb. “We’ll have to talk about this later. I have to eat my breakfast and then fight a war.” He gave Jon a little smile Jon had never seen before. It was very - adult, he thought, weary and amused altogether. “Well, more of a skirmish,” Robb added. “Nothing like - ” He shook his head. “Never mind that. We’ll talk more later.”
“Can I come with you?” said Jon. “To battle, I mean.”
“Jon,” said Robb gently. “All the men here have seen a score of battles already, even the young ones. I don’t want you getting hurt. Father would -” And then he stopped, face creasing, and for a moment he looked his age again.
“I forget sometimes too,” said Jon quietly. “I’ve fought battles, Robb. Beyond the Wall. It’s why I’m here.” He reached out and put his fingers on Robb’s sleeve. “Please.”
Robb looked at him for a long moment.
“Alright,” he said eventually. “Find the armourer, get a breastplate at least. Your horse must be tired if you’ve ridden all night -” Jon didn’t point out he had run - “so see if the Master of Horse has any spare mounts. I’ll put you on the left flank. Lord Roote is commanding it.” Robb began to chew a piece of bread. “Well, go on, then,” he said briskly. “We don’t have all day.” Jon flushed, feeling stupid, and started walking out of the tent.
“Snow?”
Jon looked back.
“Black is your colour,” said Robb, grinning at him, and Jon laughed, feeling something inside him easing out.
“It’s good to see you, Stark,” he said, and stepped out.
Dawn had broken in the time Jon was in the tent. The light wasn’t particularly strong, but Jon felt that crushing tiredness he’d grown used to in daylight. Well, he’d just have to bear it, he thought. They were going to battle. He couldn’t let Robb down. So he was tired. He’d been tired at Castle Black and managed to do his duties. Setting his shoulders back, Jon began to walk through the camp, Ghost at his heels, looking for the two-headed horse that was the Roote coat of arms.
Everywhere around him the camp was bursting into activity, porridge boiled, horses saddled, swords sharpened. But eventually Jon had a mismatched set of armour, a placid piebald nag of a horse and a place in Roote’s company. The left flank, Jon realised, was for this battle at least the place where the old men and young boys ended up, because clearly they weren’t meant to do very much. Jon felt himself flush. Was this where Robb thought he belonged? The humiliation made him clench his jaw. He’d prove to Robb that he was better than this. He’d killed before, and he’d fought stranger things than anyone else here had faced. He’d do something brilliant and brave, and Robb would - Jon couldn’t quite think beyond Robb smiling, a smile of mingled surprise and satisfaction, and then him clamping his arm around his brother’s shoulders and squeezing them. Imagining it made Jon feel breathless, which was stupid. For the hundredth time he told himself he should stop caring so much what Robb thought, and for the hundredth time he ignored himself. I’m going to war for my brother, he thought, and a little warm shiver passed through him. And Father, he thought hastily, and the North. But it was Robb he thought of as he mounted his horse and followed Roote, loud press of men around him, smell of horseflesh and human skin making him hungry and sick at the same time.
The left flank fanned out onto a hillside above Castle Darry so Jon could see the army spread out below. It was only part of their forces, Jon knew, but he’d still never seen so many men in one place before, the green of the land hidden by a patchwork of horses and men and metal, browns and whites and silvers tight together. Banners streamed in the breeze below a grey sky. He heard the peal of a trumpet, and then rolling out across the whole army like a great wave the cry “The King in the North!” Jon cried out with them, feeling his heart pound. For Father. For the North. For Winterfell. For Robb -
The sun came out from behind a cloud, sudden brilliant light like a needle through his eye, and Jon fainted.
Title: A Song of Snow and Blood
Rating: R
Pairing: Eventually Jon/Robb
Chapter: 4 of ?? (1 is here, 2 is here, 3 here.)
Wordcount: this chapter - 1900
Synopsis: Jon gets more than he bargained for beyond the Wall. Very loosely inspired by a prompt at stark_n_snow that asked for a vampire!Jon fic, and the result of some of my own speculation about what might happen to someone a wight didn’t manage to quite kill. Set at the end of the first season.
Warnings: None for this episode!
Disclaimer: Based on the HBO series rather than the books, hence the use of White Walkers as a term rather than Others. I own nothing!
Notes: Beautiful banner by dahliaxxx. And those of you who've been waiting patiently: FINALLY Jon finds Robb!
Previously: That night, for the first time since Piper had attacked him, Jon dreamed. In his dream he chased Robb through the woods, both of them barefoot in the snow, and he brought his brother down with a snarl. In his dream Robb bucked up under him as he bit down, and Jon woke with a hard on and blood in his mouth. He had bitten his own tongue.
Jon stood on the Kingsroad looking down toward Winterfell. There was no moon, but that didn’t matter; Jon could see the great granite walls as clearly as he ever had in daylight. The winter town was beginning to fill up, more little houses with lights in their windows. They looked like they were huddled together for warmth. Winter is coming, Jon thought, but for the first time that didn’t seem like a curse. Whatever he was now, he was made for winter.
He wanted to go down to Winterfell, to spend the night inside its familiar walls, see Rickon and Old Nan and most of all Bran. He ached for it, but he knew he couldn’t. After the bandit in the woods he didn’t trust himself, not around people. He hoped by the time he got to Robb he’d have himself under control. And if he didn’t, he would be in a camp full of armed men. They’d stop him. One way or another.
Jon put his hand on Ghost’s white head and looked at Winterfell for another long moment, and then turned away and headed back into the trees along the road. For as long as he could, he’d keep running out of sight of men.
***
If he could put aside knowing that he was a monster, the next weeks were perhaps the happiest of Jon’s life. He had nothing to do but run and hunt, and with each night he seemed to be getting stronger, faster, eyesight keener. He could smell prey now, and spot even the slightest movement in the dark. He ran as fast and as quietly as Ghost, and when he ran he hardly thought, only felt, hungerdesirejoy, the satisfaction of the new grace of his body, the easy strength of his muscles, the cold night air in his lungs and the smell of earth and fur and pine in his nostrils.
But he couldn’t run like this forever. He needed to find Robb’s army, and to do that he needed news. And so he started to pass through villages, to go into taverns and talk to people. The bright lamplight of these places after so many nights in the dark made his eyes ache, and though he’d never found it easy to talk to strangers, before they’d not shied away from him the way they seemed to do now. At taverns he’d find himself sitting alone at a table even when the rest of the place was crowded. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, Jon saw how pale he’d got, but it wasn’t a pallor like sickness. People could tell he wasn’t like them, he knew it. They might not realise it, but somewhere inside themselves they recognised a monster. But despite this, Jon learned easily enough that Robb was at Riverrun, and that the lords of the Riverlands were taking back their estates from the Lannisters.
Jon didn’t like to admit it, but he was nervous going to Riverrun. Catelyn had never liked him, and this was her family’s seat. It was bad enough he’d have to see her again, but her father? Her brother? Jon imagined men with eyes like Catelyn’s, looking at him with contempt, and felt himself quail. He looked down the river to the great sandstone castle and set his jaw. He was here not as Jon Snow, but as a brother of the Night’s Watch. He had a right to be here. Catelyn couldn’t touch him.
It turned out to be a moot point, because Robb wasn’t there. He’d taken a force to Darry, Jon learned, after Lord Lyman and all his men had been massacred by Gregor Clegane. Darry was a small house, its lands insignificant, but Jon knew his brother and he knew the cruelty of what the Mountain had done would disgust Robb, and that he would not rest until Riverlands men held the castle again.
It was half a day’s ride to Darry, but the nights were long now, and it wasn’t yet dawn before Jon found the camp. He could smell it before he could see it, scent of horseflesh and leather and metal. He could smell roasting meat, too, and he pretended that was what made his stomach rumble, not the scent of iron and salt underneath that: the smell of men’s sweat and blood.
He was questioned pretty hard outside the camp, and then eventually taken through. The camp was quiet at this time of night, though Jon could hear the occasional murmur of conversation as they headed toward Robb’s tent.
“I’ll see if His Majesty’s awake yet,” said the guard. “He should be arming soon.” The guard glanced at Ghost. “Leave - that out here.” Jon could swear Ghost gave the guard a sarcastic look before the man went into the tent.
Jon could feel his pulse flickering in his throat. The tent wasn’t particularly kingly, he thought. No gold bunting or the like, just the Stark colours flying above it. In the pre-dawn gloom everything was the Stark grey, Jon thought and smiled to himself a little, trying to make his pulse slow. And then the guard was stepping out. “He’ll see you,” he said, and Jon pushed past him and into the lamplit tent.
Robb was sitting at a table, hunched over a map, his face tense with concentration. Jon’s first, foolish, thought was that Robb wasn’t wearing a crown, and then his brother was speaking.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much time this morning; we’re about to - ” And then Robb glanced up from his map, and his whole face changed, forehead smoothing out with shock. Jon felt his stomach lurch hard, but before he could say anything Robb was on his feet.
“Snow,” he said, launching himself at Jon, and his hug was bone-crushingly hard. Robb’s skin smelled of fur and leather, and Jon found it hard to breathe.
“Robb,” Jon managed. “I mean. Your Grace.”
Robb pulled back and punched Jon’s arm.
“Don’t go calling me that. Not in private, I mean,” said Robb. “You probably should in front of other people,” and then he ran a hand through his disordered hair and laughed. “I know, a king. I’m still not quite sure how that happened.” Then his smile slipped away, his face taken on that sudden studied seriousness Jon knew so well. “What’re you doing here, Snow? Mormont’ll have your head. Or more to the point he’ll ask me to have it and I don’t fancy that.”
“I didn’t desert!” said Jon, stung - more so because he had thought of deserting before Sam and his brothers had convinced him otherwise. “The Lord Commander sent me.”
“He did?” Robb said, and then a young man came into the room carrying a plate of cold meat and bread.
“Your Grace,” he said, glance darting toward Jon and then away. “Pardon me. I’ll need to arm you soon.”
“I’m sorry, Jon,” said Robb. “We’ll have to talk about this later. I have to eat my breakfast and then fight a war.” He gave Jon a little smile Jon had never seen before. It was very - adult, he thought, weary and amused altogether. “Well, more of a skirmish,” Robb added. “Nothing like - ” He shook his head. “Never mind that. We’ll talk more later.”
“Can I come with you?” said Jon. “To battle, I mean.”
“Jon,” said Robb gently. “All the men here have seen a score of battles already, even the young ones. I don’t want you getting hurt. Father would -” And then he stopped, face creasing, and for a moment he looked his age again.
“I forget sometimes too,” said Jon quietly. “I’ve fought battles, Robb. Beyond the Wall. It’s why I’m here.” He reached out and put his fingers on Robb’s sleeve. “Please.”
Robb looked at him for a long moment.
“Alright,” he said eventually. “Find the armourer, get a breastplate at least. Your horse must be tired if you’ve ridden all night -” Jon didn’t point out he had run - “so see if the Master of Horse has any spare mounts. I’ll put you on the left flank. Lord Roote is commanding it.” Robb began to chew a piece of bread. “Well, go on, then,” he said briskly. “We don’t have all day.” Jon flushed, feeling stupid, and started walking out of the tent.
“Snow?”
Jon looked back.
“Black is your colour,” said Robb, grinning at him, and Jon laughed, feeling something inside him easing out.
“It’s good to see you, Stark,” he said, and stepped out.
Dawn had broken in the time Jon was in the tent. The light wasn’t particularly strong, but Jon felt that crushing tiredness he’d grown used to in daylight. Well, he’d just have to bear it, he thought. They were going to battle. He couldn’t let Robb down. So he was tired. He’d been tired at Castle Black and managed to do his duties. Setting his shoulders back, Jon began to walk through the camp, Ghost at his heels, looking for the two-headed horse that was the Roote coat of arms.
Everywhere around him the camp was bursting into activity, porridge boiled, horses saddled, swords sharpened. But eventually Jon had a mismatched set of armour, a placid piebald nag of a horse and a place in Roote’s company. The left flank, Jon realised, was for this battle at least the place where the old men and young boys ended up, because clearly they weren’t meant to do very much. Jon felt himself flush. Was this where Robb thought he belonged? The humiliation made him clench his jaw. He’d prove to Robb that he was better than this. He’d killed before, and he’d fought stranger things than anyone else here had faced. He’d do something brilliant and brave, and Robb would - Jon couldn’t quite think beyond Robb smiling, a smile of mingled surprise and satisfaction, and then him clamping his arm around his brother’s shoulders and squeezing them. Imagining it made Jon feel breathless, which was stupid. For the hundredth time he told himself he should stop caring so much what Robb thought, and for the hundredth time he ignored himself. I’m going to war for my brother, he thought, and a little warm shiver passed through him. And Father, he thought hastily, and the North. But it was Robb he thought of as he mounted his horse and followed Roote, loud press of men around him, smell of horseflesh and human skin making him hungry and sick at the same time.
The left flank fanned out onto a hillside above Castle Darry so Jon could see the army spread out below. It was only part of their forces, Jon knew, but he’d still never seen so many men in one place before, the green of the land hidden by a patchwork of horses and men and metal, browns and whites and silvers tight together. Banners streamed in the breeze below a grey sky. He heard the peal of a trumpet, and then rolling out across the whole army like a great wave the cry “The King in the North!” Jon cried out with them, feeling his heart pound. For Father. For the North. For Winterfell. For Robb -
The sun came out from behind a cloud, sudden brilliant light like a needle through his eye, and Jon fainted.